More than Exist(26)

He wasn’t wearing a backwards baseball cap, instead he had on a black cowboy hat, but there was no mistaking that chiseled, handsome face, and his striking blue eyes.

“Luke,” I said in surprise, before I even realized I was going to say it out loud.

He turned his attention from Patricia, the smile dropping from his lips.

“Belle?” he asked, and I was shocked that he remembered my name. But then I guess a cowboy from South Carolina didn’t often find himself in a strip club with his arms full of naked woman.

“You two know each other?” Patricia asked, obviously confused.

I felt my face redden with embarrassment. I was mortified that this was man who was here to interview me for a job. There was no way he was going to hire me … I didn’t exactly make a great first impression.

Luke looked from me to Patricia, realization dawning.

“This is Mirabelle?”

“Yes,” Patricia, letting the fact that neither Luke nor I had answered her question slide. “I think she would be the perfect fit for the Ranch, and would be a great help to you and Matty while Ms. Lucille is away.”

“I don’t know, Patty,” Luke said softly, and I found myself wondering what their relationship really was; all I knew was that this perfect job was about to slip through my fingers, and I had to do something to stop that from happening.

“Um, Luke,” I ventured, trying to keep my voice strong. One of the things I’d learned while I over the last few weeks was to speak up, ask for what I want, and not keep everything bottled up inside. I was about to see whether or not that lesson worked. “Can I talk to you privately?”

Patricia looked at me curiously, but smiled at my bravado and nodded slightly to Luke, indicating she thought it was a good idea.

Luke did not look as convinced, but he still replied, “Sure.”

“I’ll just give you a few minutes then,” Patricia said, and I gave her a smile of thanks before she left, closing the door behind her.

“Will you sit?” I asked, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the small table I was sitting at. I was so nervous, and embarrassed about the fact that I was going to totally open myself up and tell him my story, but I worried if I didn’t he’d walk out and I’d never see him again.

He folded his long, lean body into the chair and took off his cowboy hat, setting it on the open chair next to him. Luke ran his hand through his hair, more in a gesture of frustration, than an attempt to tame his hat head.

I’m sure when he came on-site to do an interview, I was the absolute last person he thought he’d see, so I couldn’t blame him for being frustrated. I just needed to convince him to take a chance on me.

“Look, Luke,” I began, struggling to keep my voice from betraying my nerves. “I know our last encounter was crazy. Probably a crazy Vegas story that you tell your friends, but I really need you to know that the woman you met that night is not me.”

“Mirabelle … Belle,” Luke amended. “I know ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,’ and all that, and I don’t have any problems with your job choices, but I have a ten-year-old boy at home. Our current live-in cook is sixty years old and has been working on our Ranch since I was a boy. I need someone that I can trust to live in my home, and sometimes care for my son without me in the house.” He rubbed a large hand over his mouth and pierced me with those gorgeous eyes. “I came here because Patty assured me that you were someone she has the utmost confidence in, and I know she’d never place someone in my home that would be a danger to Matty, but I have to admit, I feel awkward that it’s you.”

I’m sure that was an understatement, but I fought on anyway.

“I know it is, it’s awkward for me too. I never expected to see you again, let alone be asking you for a job, but you have to believe that I would never do anything to harm your son, or anyone…” I decided that total honesty was my only chance, and even though I wasn’t looking for pity, I felt he couldn’t understand without having the whole story.

“My husband died about a year and a half ago…”

“Belle,” he started, but I had to get it all out. If he started asking question, or showing sympathy, I knew I’d break down.

“It’s okay. He was in a motorcycle accident. We lived in San Diego and I was a cook. After his accident, I kind of lost it … I stopped working, stopped communicating with the outside world, and started drinking. A couple of months ago I agreed to pack up and leave California, and come back east to see my parents and try to figure out what was next for me. It was on that cross-country trip that I met you in Vegas. I’m not a stripper and never was. My purse was stolen, and the only way for me to get it back was by dancing in that club so that the thief could get his money. That attempted lap dance for you was a one-time thing. Once I got to Orlando I ended up drinking too much and hurting myself.” When his face fell I rushed on, “Not on purpose. I fell and hit my head … Anyway, I ended up in the hospital, and that is where I realized that enough was enough. I had to make a change before I ended up killing myself, so I came to rehab.”